Attendance at childbirth. Having passed the crucible of the maternity hospital, the father of the family acquires a new attitude and discovers hidden energy in himself.
I named my first child, who will be two years old in winter, Sever. The name is rare, but, in my opinion, it carries a great ideological load. This is my creative, my find … In short, this is not discussed.
Even before my wife's pregnancy, I became firmly convinced that childbirth is not only a woman's task. It can be said to be a key family issue. Irritation was caused by philistine considerations that childbirth is a "sacrament", something "sacred" and other nonsense. In my opinion, this is an event that makes sense. This is important.
The presence at childbirth is necessary both for the woman, who is very difficult at this time, and for the man himself, who, engaged in "obstetrics", reinforces his formal paternity with a real deed. Having passed the crucible of the maternity hospital, the father of the family acquires a new attitude and discovers hidden energy in himself.
Without too much bravado, I will say that I could now take delivery in any extreme situation - on the train or, for example, on a camping trip. I diligently studied the science of obstetrics, far from my life addictions.
However, with the onset of the fortieth week of our pregnancy, I began to worry so much, as if I had to give birth myself. I took a vacation from work. We went to the maternity hospital, settled in the family ward, having discussed my mandatory presence at the birth, agreed on the video. (This is a necessary moment and requires a trusted person.)
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| Photo: puppinurss
flickr.com/meaganjean |
During the fights, we lived in the mode of the scenario worked out in the classroom. My wife adjusted her breathing without hysteria, I gave her a massage at special points to relieve pain.
Together with the trunks, we took a huge ball, a meter in diameter, to the maternity hospital to relieve tension on the stomach during contractions (checked - a good thing).
The waters went into the taxi while they were in a traffic jam. The chauffeur, frightened, drove off like a madman. It can be understood. I massaged the right points, and it seemed to me that I myself feel this pain.
While the nurses helped my wife change, I pulled on my beach shorts and washed T-shirt. Then he returned to the role of a massage therapist. The session of intense manual stimulation exhausted me more than ever. I was obviously much more tired than my wife, she was a good fellow - where did she have so much will and patience? She didn't scream, she didn't moan, she breathed to herself according to the learned method, closing her eyes and clenching her teeth. Like a Stakhanovite, drenched in sweat, I rushed with trebled energy to soak the spots on her poor body.
I don’t like to savor medical details, it’s unpleasant for me to remember my wife’s pain, my confusion. But I know that this is where my family originates. The simple word "papa", which Sever can already say, I deserve.
All subsequent was recorded by the film. To avoid tearing and to provide the baby with a normal exit, I had to properly hold my wife, help her do something like squats. The midwife of Balzac's age amazed me with the richness of shades in pronouncing the professional term "push!" - she begged, then commanded, so convincingly and "to the vein" that I myself wanted to push. I never suspected such possibilities in a simple imperative.
Katya obediently followed the commands, obediently turned on one side, then on the other, I ran up, held my legs so that it was convenient for the midwife to do the necessary manipulations. Now I look at these shots, I see capillaries on my wife's eyeball that were shot by collision, bursting from tension, and I understand what a brake I myself was at that moment.
However, it turned out that, despite the fatigue, each participant in the action knew his place and his tasks. The midwife helped me climb onto the gynecological chair: I had to, kneeling down, support my wife from the back.
It was still a mystery. I saw the tools but couldn't figure out how they were used. I heard unfamiliar medical terms, but did not dare to interfere with questions. The doctors themselves constantly bullied me, tortured me about weather signs, signs of the zodiac, and some other rubbish around the upcoming birthday of my child. I remember that empty chatter distracted me from the desire to take on my wife's suffering at least to some extent …
For twenty minutes the midwife chanted a three-word tirade: "push!" and "come on, Katya!" I, as they say, "automatically" continued to massage the points. The cherished film shows bruises from my many hours of work.
Time moved - like in an aquarium. The eyes from overwork no longer perceived the bright - slightly greenish - light of shadowless surgical lamps. The smell of blood was acutely felt. I wanted one thing - that it would all be over as soon as possible.
At first I didn’t even notice the child’s cry. Just something sharply wedged into the background curtain.
In euphoria, I kissed my wife, pale as chalk, in a semi-faint state. Probably, you need to hide it, but the inexorable film will not give: the tears were in mine, not her eyes. On my legs stiff after a long tense kneeling, I got down from the chair and walked over to the child, who had fresh blood on his arms and neck. The midwife said he was a smart boy and did a good job. It was wild to hear, but nice.
It was time to start the most exciting event I felt long before giving birth - cutting the umbilical cord. Actually, I came just for this moment.
I did everything wrong: I washed the baby the wrong way, I really couldn't put on a diaper. Hands were trembling - probably from nervous tension.
After lying in the family ward for three days, we were discharged. I know: in case of a new need, my place is next to the woman giving birth to my child.
